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Nabil Ayers has lived in New York City since 2008, but he still answers a phone number that starts with Seattle area code 206.
The former owner of Sonic Boom Records (as well as the drummer in such Seattle bands as The Lemons and The Long Winters), he’s now a music business guy, having run his own indie labels, The Control Group and Valley of Search, before serving as the longtime U.S. general manager of storied British indie 4AD Records (known for Cocteau Twins back in the day but, more recently, The National and Big Thief).
Earlier this year, Ayers became president of the entire Beggars Group USA, which includes 4AD, Rough Trade Records, XL Recordings, Matador Records, and Young. He’s also written for The Stranger, Pitchfork and The New York Times (and is on the board of Seattle radio station KEXP).
But none that brings Ayers to Portland this week. Rather, it’s his remarkable life story, which he’s turned into a remarkable book: My Life in the Sunshine: Searching for My Father and Discovering My Family (Viking, 320 pages, $26). It’s an eminently readable coming-of-age memoir, the story of one man’s life in music and the music business—but that’s just the backdrop to a larger story about family and race and masculinity and nature vs. nurture.
Ayers was conceived under unusual circumstances—a planned pregnancy by his mother with no expectation of involvement from his father, the Black jazz and soul composer and vibraphonist Roy Ayers (the book’s title is a play on Ayers’ biggest hit, the oft-sampled “Everybody Loves the Sunshine’'). Nabil was raised by his mother, Louise Braufman, and his uncle, jazz saxophonist Alan Braufman, both of whom are white, and for most of his life, he was pretty much OK with that.
Until he wasn’t—or at least was ready to process his feelings about it and ponder his own creative, racial and family identity. Ayers will be in Portland to promote and discuss the book at multiple events this week; he spoke to WW by phone from New York City.
WW: It seems like the events of your life, and also some of your other writing, were kind of pointing toward this book. But when did you realize you had one?
Nabil Ayers: I started writing about six years ago. I was in my 40s and had a lot of fun stories about the record store and the bands I used to play in, and thought it would be really fun to write that stuff. Not for anyone to see or to publish. But then I did, and it reminded me of being in a band. I liked putting it out there. And my wife—whom I’d probably just met around then—was the one who was like, “Well, this is all fun, but you need to write about your race and your father.”
Your mom and your uncle were very hands-on about exposing you to music, but you’ve obviously asked yourself: How much of it was them? How much of it was Roy? Or how much of it was the fact that they were people who were drawn to Roy?
My mother played me records constantly. She’s a dancer, she doesn’t play anything, but [she’s] so musical. And then my uncle didn’t even have to try. He would play the saxophone five or six hours a day some days, and I would just be there playing with Legos while he was doing it. It was so natural. And then my father, whom I only met a couple of times as a kid, that’s the DNA thing. So I’ll never know, probably!
You are probably getting this question a lot: Did you send Roy a book?
I’m in touch, as I write in the book, with my half-brother Mtume, the son who actually grew up with him. I emailed him and said, “I wrote this book. Here’s what it’s about. I’m not in touch with Roy or Ayana [Mtume’s sister]. So if you want to tell them about it, you should. If you want me to send you a book, I will!” And he just replied like, “Wow, cool, congrats!”
So to me, that was my due diligence. I didn’t want to do anything that makes me feel like I’m waiting for a response [from Roy], because that’s the whole problem. There’s no part of me that wanted to put myself in a position to do something that might make him feel better but certainly wouldn’t make me feel better.
So I mean, there’s plenty of ways for him to get it now. And I don’t expect to hear from him. Not in a bad way. I don’t think there’s any bitterness. I just think he’s probably doing his own thing.
Is it fair to say that you came away from meeting some of the people that did have Roy in their life more regularly, feeling they still didn’t necessarily get as much from him as they might have either?
Oh, yeah, that’s totally fair. And I’ve met more people since then. People who were close to him are not really close to him. That seems to be a general vibe. Every story I’ve told about my life with him, people are like, “Yeah, this all makes sense.”
And that’s…I mean, this is me guessing, but it does take a certain kind of person to be as good as he is and to do what he’s done. It takes a lot of focus and time and energy, which means you can’t do other things.
So I bet you’re getting this one a lot too. Have you and your wife talked about having kids?
Haha. That one surprised me the first time, and now I’m getting it all the time. We do talk about it. The question I get beyond that one is [whether] my relationship with my father has affected or changed my thinking on that. I don’t think it has. I’m not worried I’m going to be a certain kind of father because of what he was, and that doesn’t make me want to or not want to have kids.
Any specific Portland memories from your Seattle music days?
[In] bands, my favorite memory is Bill Stevenson, the drummer from Black Flag and Descendents. Wonderful guy. A monster on stage. An incredible, like, idol/mentor. This was when he was in All and I was in Lemons. I was like 23 or something at the time. We did a tour with them, we played the Portland show, and at La Luna, he was like, “Hey, my drum tech is sick. Can you be my drum tech? I’m gonna pay you 50 bucks.”
And I remember thinking: 50 bucks to be someplace I already was, that’s great! But I was also like, Jesus, I don’t want to do that! I was crouched down beneath him at his drum kit, and I would try to tighten his snare drum between every song, but they would play six songs in a row and he never stopped! I’m getting hit with drumsticks, I’m getting sweaty, his pedal broke, and I had to climb under and fix the pedal. It was one of the most weird, stressful hours of my life. But really fun!
And if I’m reading book’s acknowledgments correctly, former WW staffer Richard Martin was your first editor.
Oh, yeah, that’s hilarious. That was like really early, when I started writing for fun. I always tell people that the first thing I published was when we sold Sonic Boom [Records] and I published something in The Stranger about it, but the first thing was actually for Richard, who is a good friend from when he lived in Seattle, for Food Republic. I was in London for work and I went to Krakow for a weekend, to all these really cool, weird, Polish coffee shops
Okay, now I’ll put you on the spot. What are you listening to right now?
Oh, yeah…. I’m still that guy who listens to the Turnstile record all the time. I love the Sudan Archives record: that might be my favorite record this year. Guilty pleasure the new Paramore, which sounds like Can and X ray Spex or something. It’s really cool.
And I’ll give you one conflict of interest pick: What are you most excited about in the Beggars universe right now?
There’s this woman named Lucinda Chua, who’s on 4AD and has two EPs out. I think she’s finishing an album right now. I’m really excited about her. She was also a cellist in FKA Twigs’ band. It’s wonderful, cinematic, interesting, challenging but beautiful music.
SEE IT: Nabil Ayers appears in conversation with Alicia J. Rose at Powell’s Books, 1005 W Burnside St., 800-228-4651, powells.com. 7 pm Friday, Oct. 14. Free. Earlier that day, Ayers does an in-store book signing and DJ set at Music Millennium, 3158 E Burnside St., 503-231-8926, musicmillennium.com. 4-6 pm. Free. He also appears on Live Wire Radio at Alberta Rose Theater, 3000 NE Alberta St., 503-719-6055, albertarosetheatre.com. 7:30 pm Thursday, Oct. 13. $30-$45.